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Monday, September 19, 2011

Oh, hey, Monday.

Today, I went "back to work."

I cried pretty much the entire way there. I was having quite a rough time the night before, knowing I am not fully mentally prepared to be out and about on my regular routine. But, I suppose admitting it to myself is a step, at least. I prefer not to live in denial telling people I am perfectly fine, when, chances are, I'll burst into tears shortly after and they'd think I was a basket case anyway.

I made it through the half day, only crying a couple times. Perhaps the roughest part was watching my son play with his friend who is about 22 months older than he, and realizing that could have been what it would be like for Spencer had Sprout been born in April, and lived to be Spencer's age. Yup, that was a rough segment of time. Really rough.

Sunshine was brought to my day after work, when I had both Spencer and Grayson with me, and I had to stop at Walgreens to pick up something. I had contemplated not taking a 16 month-old and 10 month-old with me at the same time and just returning later, but I knew when I would arrive at home I would most likely not want to leave my sanctuary, so I was ballsy and took them both in.

They were a riot. They were both standing in the cart (yes, that can be considered unsafe, but I moved super slow and paranoid that they'd jump out, watched them like a hawk), waving and telling people "hi!" (Grayson) and "go!" (Spencer). They made quite a few "friends." And, they were quite the little musicians too, as one shook a noisy box and the other jingled my car keys. They were laughing at each other. It brought me quite a few smiles.

I came home and was able to catch a short nap with Spencer before I woke up from a day-time 'night mare' and decided to wash some dishes.

I looked around and was overwhelmed with the amount of things I have yet again, fallen behind on, housework wise. But this time, it was more overwhelming than usual, because I just didn't know what to do. Like, my feet were stuck underneath me and I just didn't know how to proceed. It was almost hard to breathe.

This evening, Spencer wanted me to play on the floor with him. Or anywhere with him, so long as he was basically on top of me, or touching me, and I did not make one small flinch that he would perceive as moving away from him. Considering I am still having cramping (which they say is normal) and my back still hurts from the back injury.. or whatever it was, a week ago, it was pretty hard on me to sit there. And, Jake called, so I was talking to him, and had to get up so that Spencer would stop pulling on the phone. Spencer lost it, and I lost it.

I feel like it's impossible for me to be a "good mom" to Spencer when I feel like I'm not even doing a good job just being Nicole. I don't know if that makes sense to anyone but me, but it's how I feel.

Now, I'm not doing a "bad job" at being a mom, I know. But, I'm not doing as good a job as I would like to think that I could do right now. That kills me a little inside.

And I'm sure if he was able to articulate his thoughts, they wouldn't be anything like "you're a bad mom" or "you don't love me enough" but rather, "Mom, I know something's wrong and it makes me sad too," or "I just want to be with you right now." And those things are okay.

But, it's still hard.

I called the doctor today and talked about my intense lack of sleep that I've been having for almost an entire week now. It's not that I can't sleep at all, it's just that I wake up in the middle of the night, after finally falling asleep, usually after an intense cry, to a nightmare or something, and can't fall back asleep. Or, I just wake up, for apparently no reason that I can recall, and cannot relax enough to fall asleep. I thought the oxycodone/Percocet would help with that, as did the doctor, but apparently not so much.

She asked if I thought I was depressed. I mulled the question over a bit, and decided that I do not think that by a clinical definition, I am "depressed." But, I am sad. I'm heartbroken currently. I'm devastated. My baby died inside of me. I don't feel like that's the same. We discussed that, and she agreed that she didn't think I needed to consider myself "clinically depressed," and suggested I try a sleep aid for a week or so, and then if that didn't help at all, we'd discuss "other medication options."

I don't want to take anti-depressants right now. Okay, I might have a little "post-partum-death-of-baby-blues" going on, but I don't think that is the same thing. Not for me, anyway. I don't know, you may think different after reading my blog. But, I felt good knowing that she didn't think I really needed that kind of medication either.

Though, I have been contemplating seeing a counselor. At least for a little while. But, I'm torn on that, too. I know that I am perfectly able to pen my thoughts here, or to my husband, or a few good friends, without putting up a wall. But, would doing it to an anonymous professional help? Would it make me "heal faster?" I don't know. I was a psychology major for a while and a social work major after. I respect the profession. I'm just undecided if I need to arrive there yet.

I feel like maybe, I should just give myself a little more time. It's not even been a full week. Maybe, I need to just let myself cry if I need to cry, without wondering if people will think I'm nuts or think that I'm perfectly incapable of functioning on any level. I know I can trust myself with my child alone, though it's hard and I do cry, but I'm not worried for his health or safety. Even in the midst of my deepest sobs, my mother instincts kick in. I've seen it happen many times over already.

I feel like my mind actually stopped... thinking... for a while. Just now. I'm going to savor that.